It Begins With Friendship
by sosmitten
Summary: Written for the 2007 LL Reunion Ficathon. Luke and Lorelai hang out. Sex ensues. Eventually.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I'm just borrowing them long enough to get them back on track.

**Author's Note:** This is written for **Once Upon a Whim**. The request will be included at the end of the story. Thanks so much to my betas, **KineFille**, **iheartbridges**, and **Lula Bo** for poking and prodding me so that I could figure out how to tell this story right. You all are awesome.

* * *

**March 2007 **

"Do I go to the airport?"

"Huh?" Lorelai asks distractedly, as she marks something on the spring event calendar for the inn, which is spread across the diner counter next to the remains of her dinner. Glancing up, she looks startled to realize that the diner has quieted and that Luke is standing in front of her with a coffee pot. Giving him a sheepish smile, she says, "I'm sorry. Airport?"

"To meet April. Do I go to the airport?" He's been debating the question ever since he'd called Anna earlier to get the final details for April's spring break trip and Anna had reminded him yet again that she will be accompanying April and that they would be staying with a friend. Luke looks down at the countertop as he asks tentatively, "Or is that kind of lame? I mean, it's not like April's staying with me or anything, but…" He gives a shrug, letting out a slow breath as his shoulders fall.

Lorelai puts down her coffee cup and folds her arms in front of her on the counter, giving him her full attention. "You want to see her, right?"

"Of course I want to see her. It's been three months. But, I don't know…" He pauses, leaning into his hands and feeling the weight in his fingertips, as the chill of indecision takes hold of him. "Will that seem overbearing or something? I mean, I think it's really her friends she wants to see."

"Stop being ridiculous. Of course she wants to see you."

"I just…I want her to be excited to see me."

Lorelai's smile loosens the grip of his uncertainty. "She will be, Luke. She will be," she says, her voice reassuring. She picks up her coffee and takes another sip, then looks at him across the brim of her cup. "You know, though, what will make you the best dad ever?"

"What?" The note of desperation in his voice makes him feel pathetic.

"Who is the friend she misses the most?"

He evaluates for only a moment. "Lucy McAllister…Why?" he asks dubiously.

Lorelai's mouth drops open and she gives him a broad smile. "Check you out!"

"What?"

"You didn't even have to think about that."

He shrugs. "So, I know her friends."

"You do. And that's good. Why don't you take Lucy with you?"

He lifts his eyebrows, skeptical. "To the airport?"

"You totally win that way. You get to see April as soon as she gets here and it will mean a lot to her that you understand that she wants to see her friends."

"Okay," he says slowly, "I guess that means that I have to call Mrs. McAllister."

Lorelai nods. "Unless you have a carrier pigeon handy, yeah you will."

He grimaces. "I hate the phone."

* * *

It turns out to be an excellent suggestion. Once Lucy's mother had understood who he was, she'd told him it was thoughtful of him to think of her daughter, and Lucy had been thrilled to go. He's a little disappointed that April passes him by and runs toward her friend so enthusiastically, but once she's spent a few minutes in full-out chatter mode, she turns to Luke, wrapping her arms around his chest in a fierce hug, whispering, "I'm so glad you're here, Dad." She pulls back, smiling, "Thanks for coming, and for dragging Lucy along."

The whole situation is typical of the quiet little ways that Lorelai has been present in his life ever since he'd run into her in the weeks after April had left for New Mexico and Lorelai's marriage had ended. Everything had started with brief stops at the diner a couple of months ago and it's been casual, really, her company. She visits the diner and they talk. It's mostly small talk, little funny anecdotes about their days or news about progress she's making marketing the inn as a venue for functions. And he talks to her about April. He's come to depend on her as a sounding board, for the way that she encourages him, and for the advice she only offers when he asks.

When he looks back on all that's happened in the last year, he's a little amazed that he's let himself get used to seeing her regularly again. Between the determined avoidance in the months after they'd broken up and the strange awkwardness in their few chance encounters after she'd gotten married, he'd wondered if they'd ever be able to even be friends again.

But friendship has always come naturally to them; it's been the thing that's brought them together when events, other people, or their own stupidity have driven them apart. The estrangement after their broken engagement, though longer and more painful than the others, had ended the same way. When Lorelai had tentatively stepped back through the diner door, she'd seemed to sense his loneliness and had offered a friendly ear. It's always been her gift, he thinks, that she understands him well enough to know when he wants to talk and when he just wants companionship. And, it seems, the two of them can't escape their friendship when the other is truly in need, even when all circumstances are working against them.

Only once while she was married had she entered the diner, in the slow, still week between Christmas and New Year's. She'd opened the door with a hesitant push, and glanced guiltily around the diner before walking up to the counter and giving him a nervous smile.

"What can I get you?"

"Uh…Just a coffee and a muffin, I guess."

"Do you want that here or to go?" It had only been as he'd asked the question that he'd realized how much he'd wanted her to stay.

He shouldn't have been surprised by that revelation; he'd known he missed her. It's not something he had worked very hard to deny, but he'd let the time he'd spent with April mask that loss. With April gone and no one else with whom he spent any significant time, he'd felt lonelier than he remembered feeling in a long time.

"Uh…no…I should," she'd looked quickly around the diner again, then gestured toward the door with her thumb, "go. I need to get to the inn."

He'd nodded. "Okay." He'd tried to draw out the time, but it was only coffee and a muffin, so he'd gotten it poured and bagged all too quickly.

As he'd been turned away from her though, putting the lid on the coffee, she'd asked, "How's April? She heal up okay?"

There was this helpless feeling he'd gotten, still gets actually, whenever he thinks about April being off in New Mexico, this feeling of trying to gather up and hold something elusive, and the feeling of it slipping out of his fingers. It had made him almost knock over the coffee cup, but he'd taken a deep breath, steeled himself and turned around to slide the coffee and muffin across the counter to Lorelai.

"April moved to New Mexico with her mom," he'd said slowly, his eyes downcast but flickering up to meet hers when the words were completely out.

"She moved to New Mexico?" He'd watched her eyes widen dramatically and her jaw fall open in shock.

He'd just nodded.

"When? Why?"

"Just before Christmas. Anna's mother is sick and Anna needs to be closer to her, so…" he'd given a feeble wave, "so they had to move there."

"But," she'd stammered, "but, you were just…you'll be able to go see her, right? Or she'll come back to visit?"

Actually, he'd not been sure about any of it. The lawyer he'd seen had filed some papers, but they'd not been able to keep Anna from taking April, and frankly, Luke hadn't been sure he should. Luke had known the kinds of sacrifices people have to make when family members are sick. He'd just wished they had a firm plan for keeping in touch and for visits.

"We're still," he'd taken in a breath and let it out slowly, "uh, we're working that out."

Wrinkles of concern had formed in the space between her eyes and she'd asked, "Can you call her? I mean, can you at least talk to her?"

Her obvious compassion had touched him, that even after all the pain, all the time that had passed, he could hear such sincerity in her words. "Yeah, we've been…I've talked to her a few times since she left."

"Okay, that's good," she'd said, picking up the coffee cup and the bag. She'd paused then, looking back up at him and saying, her voice heartfelt and sad, "I really do hope that everything works out for you." He'd thanked her softly, and then she'd nodded, saying, "Well…I've got to go. Bye, Luke."

"Bye," he'd said simply, recognizing with a rush of sadness that they hadn't said 'see you later,' that there'd been no assumption of an immediate repeat visit. It hadn't been with any romantic longing that he'd thought this; it's just that it had been the first time since April had left, two weeks earlier, that he'd felt like someone had really understood just how much he must miss her. The irony isn't lost on him that the one person he'd kept away from April is the one who had shown the most concern for him since she'd left.

She'd headed to the door, but before opening it, she'd turned back and said, "Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really sorry…" She'd hesitated for a moment, her eyes downcast, enough to make him wonder what she was apologizing for, but then, looking up at him sadly, she'd added, "About April."

He hadn't been able to force words past the lump in his throat so he'd just nodded back at her.

She hadn't come back to the diner after that isolated visit and though he'd let himself hope that she would, he hadn't been surprised when she didn't. She'd looked nervous, a little uncomfortable, as if she thought she shouldn't be there and he had wondered how much of that was because of her husband, because she was with Christopher.

Over the next couple of weeks, he'd only caught quick glimpses of her in town, and he'd found himself strangely pleased that in most of those quick sightings she'd been alone.

He'd heard the gossip, of course, when it had ended. Not much in the way of details, snippets really. There had been fighting. _He'd_ been seen spending more time at the local bar. And then he'd moved boxes out of her house.

Luke had had no idea how to receive the information that Lorelai and Christopher had split up, how he was supposed to feel about it. He'd known that he did feel relief, happiness even, that Christopher was out of Lorelai's life, but then wondered if he should have felt sad for her. That maybe if he were a better person, he would have wanted her to be with whoever could make her happy, even if it were Rory's deadbeat father. But no matter how much he'd run it over in his head, he couldn't make himself feel regret that she was no longer with Christopher .

A few days later, he'd run into Lorelai at the market. He'd noted, with a guilty conscience, that her skin looked pale and drawn, which had only served to make the purplish circles under her eyes more prominent. He'd been pleased that he hadn't had to work to summon sympathy for her, that when confronted with her unhappiness he could still try to be the friend she'd seemed to need. After a quick, friendly greeting, he'd looked her right in the eye and asked seriously, "Are you okay?"

Her lips had parted slightly and her eyes had looked wary, caught, before she'd shaken her head and said, "I'm fine."

"Well, okay," he'd paused, "as long as you're okay."

"I am," she'd said. "I'm good, I guess."

He'd nodded. "Well, come by if you need anything…if you want some coffee."

He'd seen something pass over her eyes then: regret, sadness perhaps, but it had been fleeting and then she'd lifted her chin, smiling weakly. "Okay. Yeah. I'll do that. Umm…thanks." She'd cringed then, sucking in and letting out a breath and saying again sincerely, "Thank you, Luke."

It had taken her a week, but she'd stopped in for coffee and a doughnut one morning on her way to the inn. During the brief stop they'd only had time to exchange the barest of greetings, but a few days later she'd been back and over the next month she stopped by more and more often and even started coming in every few days for dinner.

In the weeks that followed, they'd managed to rebuild a tentative friendship, to bring back a shade of their former closeness. It's been easier, he thinks, because of the unspoken rules they've developed: they haven't ever mentioned _him_, or her marriage, or their own failed engagement, or anything of substance really, except for April. He's even noticed that beyond general news from Yale she hasn't mentioned Rory much, and he has to wonder what kind of toll Lorelai's breakup has had on her daughter and on their relationship.

And, he wonders what the toll has been on Lorelai herself, how she's been affected by her whirlwind relationship and short-lived marriage. He can tell that she's lonely, but it's a subject they don't broach, and because of that, she's been the one doing most of the listening, and he doing most of the confiding. It doesn't seem like quite a fair balance, but frankly, he's needed her encouragement and he hopes that eventually he can return the favor. And for the time being, he can at least give her his company.

* * *

It's a few days into April's visit and though Lorelai and April have yet to cross paths, Lorelai asks Luke about their plans every morning when she stops in for coffee. Luke tries not to read too much into the fact that on the day April spends the afternoon at the diner, Lorelai doesn't come by for dinner.

It's as he's wondering about that, yet again, that he hears Lorelai ask, "So, what's April up to today? You were going to try to take her to dinner or do something tonight, right?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "I don't know about that though."

"What? Why?"

"Her friends really want to hang out with her again. She said they'd been trying to figure out something they could do together. She sounded really torn, so I don't want to make her have to choose."

"Well, don't make her choose then," she says matter-of-factly.

"That's what I _was_ going to do," he says, a little impatiently. "Tell her to hang out with her friends."

"No," Lorelai corrects, shaking her head. "I mean, why don't you take them out somewhere?"

He eyes her skeptically. "You really think that a bunch of 13-year-olds are going to want to hang out with me?"

"Well, I don't know about her friends, but April obviously wants to see you." He can't help the little half-smile that escapes when he hears her speak with such certainty. "Do you know what were they planning to do?"

He shrugs. "I don't think they have definite plans. I'm not sure I want to know what teenage girls do when they 'hang out.'"

"Probably nothing too horrifying, I'm sure," she says, chuckling, "though you still might not want to know. But I'm sure there's something you could do that wouldn't freak you out too much." She wrinkles her nose thoughtfully. "I know! Bowling!"

"Bowling?"

"Yeah, I mean miniature golf would work too, but it's winter, so bowling."

He ponders a moment. "Huh. Bowling."

"Yeah, it's fun, social, not too athletic." She's watching him, her expression so earnest, he's struck once again by the simple fact of her support, and her presence.

"Bowling sounds…that could work," he says cautiously, though he's got this disturbing image in his head of a middle-aged man hanging around with a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls. "I just…don't you think that it will be weird, just me and April's friends?" He gestures toward Lorelai. "Maybe you could, I don't know, come with us?" He looks up at her hopefully.

She stills for a moment, and looks a little worried. "No, Luke. It's your...you don't need me hanging around." Her insistence, her fear even at the suggestion, hits him hard, especially in light of everything she's done in the last couple of months just by listening.

"Please?" he asks, the image in his head shifting as he pictures Lorelai joking with the girls, breaking the ice. She still looks hesitant though, so he tries another tack. "Look at it this way," he says lightly, "Harry and his friends really like Hagrid, but that doesn't mean that they want him hovering around all the time. But if he had someone to talk to, maybe they wouldn't think he was so annoying."

Lorelai's mouth drops open in shock and he eyes dance with amusement, "Holy crap, did you just make a _Harry Potter_ reference?"

He shrugs. "I know things."

"Okay, then," she says, impressed. "So I guess that makes you Hagrid?" She pokes her lower lip out thoughtfully. "Hmm. I guess that fits. You know, I have to say, I think fatherhood has made you more hip."

He chuckles and then gives her a persuasive look, "So, will you come help make sure that I don't ruin my hip father status by doing something stupid?"

She looks a little uncertain but covers her hesitation by answering brightly, "Just so long as I don't have to be Madame Maxime. 'Cause she's like eight feet tall and everyone knows she a half-giant even though she denies it. And she's _French_-"

He lifts his eyebrows at her incomprehensible babble. "Lorelai, what the hell are you talking about? Will you come with us or what?"

"Yeah, if you insist," she says, giving him a grin, "but it's good to know you haven't been completely lost to the dark side of cool."

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Huge thanks to my lovely betas: **iheartbridges**, **KinoFille** and **Lula Bo**. They continue to be awesome and amazing. I also want to apologize in advance because in all likelihood, I will not be able to update this for a few weeks. I will attempt to get one more chapter up before I go into exile next week, but I'm not sure I'll be able to get it done.

* * *

Bowling. She hasn't been bowling in years. Not since high school maybe, or the occasional birthday party when Rory was growing up. But she's going tonight, with Luke and April. It's hard to fathom, actually, that she's going out with them.

She hasn't seen April since her thirteenth birthday party almost a year ago, and though she's been kept apprised of news and accomplishments, she doesn't have any idea what April's been told or what she'll think of having her dad's ex-fiancee hanging out with her friends.

When Luke had suggested she join them, he'd made it sound like she'd be doing him a favor by allowing him to spend time with his daughter and her friends without being a weird fifth wheel parental unit. She'd agreed, but then later had asked if he was sure, if it would be okay with April and he'd assured her that April would be fine with anything that kept him from hovering too much. And besides, he'd added, April liked Lorelai. She wonders what it is that makes him think that, that allows him to say with such easy confidence that April will be happy to see her.

All of this has made her unusually nervous going into what's supposed to be a lighthearted outing and because of that she'd made up an excuse when Luke had asked if she would have dinner with all of them at the diner beforehand. She's still a little uncomfortable about spending time with Luke and April and though she tries to tell herself it's because she doesn't want to get in the way of the father-daughter bonding, she thinks it really might be that she's not sure she wants what wasn't okay when she and Luke were together to be okay now that they're apart. So she gives Luke space he hasn't asked for by telling him she'll meet them at the diner when the girls are done eating and walk over to the bowling alley with them.

When she arrives, April and three friends are sitting at a table, chatting over their empty plates and sucking down the remainder of their sodas. Luke is behind the counter and she throws him a hesitant smile before turning to April. "Hey April, it's good to see you again. How are you liking New Mexico?" She's nervous about April's reaction to her being here, but at the same time, she's genuinely glad to see Luke's daughter again.

She needn't have worried, she realizes; when April answers, it's with the easy nonchalance of unaffected youth. "It's okay, I guess it hasn't been _that_ bad, even though I'm the new kid. At least I'll know some people when I start high school next year. But I am really glad to finally be back visiting."

"Well, I'm sure that everyone has been so glad to see you. I know your dad is."

"It's definitely cool to be back. Hopefully I can come for longer in the summer, if all my friends haven't forgotten about me by then." She turns and fixes her friends with a teasing glare and they smile in return before April turns back Lorelai. "Which reminds me, I should introduce you," she says, gesturing toward each girl in turn. "This is Lucy, Marcia and Gabby, and this is Lore-"

Gabby cuts her off, "We met your dad's girlfriend at your birthday party last year."

April visibly cringes and tries to silence Gabby at the same time Lorelai says, "We're not…we…" Even if she wanted to explain, she can't put into words all that's happened in the last year in a way that doesn't sound ridiculous, and she can see the horrifying details of her love life spilling out in front of her like bloody entrails spewing from a gory open wound.

She's still stammering out a reply when she hears Luke approach, saying, "We're friends. We've been friends for a long time."

It hurts to hear their history rewritten so neatly; it doesn't capture the depth of what they've felt for each other, or the possibility that they'd held. At the same time, though, she can't help but notice that he didn't say 'just friends,' and to hear him acknowledge their friendship is a comfort. It makes her think that she's still important to him, that though they'd ruined any chance of a romantic future for themselves, she still matters to him in a small way.

She glances up and gives him a feeble smile of gratitude and is surprised to see him lean in toward her and whisper, "I'm sorry."

"Don't," she says, shaking her head, "it's not your– It's okay."

April's friends just look baffled and Lorelai can see April mouth to them, "I'll explain later."

They leave fairly quickly for the short walk to the bowling alley. She's quiet along the way, the embarrassment still ringing in her ears. It brings with it feelings of regret and sadness that gather around her in the cool evening air. She folds her arms across her chest to ward off the chill. She can hear Luke's feet scuffing along beside her, but she can't bring herself to look at him. April is walking a little ahead with her friends, their heads huddled together in conversation as they walk. Lorelai is sure that April is filling them in on the 'Luke and Lorelai' story and she cringes all over again wondering how much April knows. The only consolation, and what she keeps telling herself over and over, is that Luke is one of the most private people she's ever met and while he's become increasingly close to April he's unlikely to have shared details about his love life with his daughter.

Luckily, once they get inside the periodic crash of balls into pins pulls her out of her reverie and the process of finding everyone the right size shoes and bowling balls in their preferred colors breaks the ice and some of the tension melts away.

The ten-pin lanes are full so they end up downstairs in the candlepin alley that has yet to be updated to electronic scoring. Because it's almost deserted, they end up using three lanes, the girls gathered around the table between their two lanes, and Luke and Lorelai in the lane next to April and Marcia. Lorelai has to admit that her being there does make it easier for Luke to step back and give the girls some space while still having a part in their interactions.

Lorelai focuses on the bowling as a way of distracting himself from thinking about the earlier misunderstanding. She's not sure if it's her concentration or some other force at work, but she finds herself inexplicably doing really well, and much to Luke's chagrin, he is not. After his third gutter ball, he grumbles as he walks back and plops down at the desk to write down his score. Lorelai suppresses her urge to tease him, knowing that though she and Luke have become much more relaxed with each other in recent weeks, she's not quite comfortable doing what used to come so naturally, especially tonight.

Lining up the ball carefully, she throws and watches as the ball goes slightly left of center and knocks down seven pins. With the next shot she shifts her aim a bit to the right and releases, biting her lip as the ball heads down the lane and knocks down the remaining three pins.

"Yes!" she cries, lifting her arm triumphantly. Turning, she grins at Luke. "Check me out! I'm smokin' tonight!"

Luke records her points, then slaps the pencil down on the table looking up at her in amazement. "How in the hell are you getting all of these spares?"

"Just face it, I'm a better bowler than you."

He scoffs. "This may be a string of good luck, but you are _not_ a better bowler than me."

Lorelai crosses her arms across her chest, fixing him with a defiant stare. "And why couldn't I be?"

"Because this is almost a sport and you're," he waves vaguely toward her, "you."

"Oh really?" Lorelai asks, drawing out the word and flashing him an amused smile.

"Really," he answers confidently.

"Sounds like we need a wager of some kind."

"Fine," he answers quickly, "loser buys dinner for the winner."

There's a brief moment during which Lorelai stares at him, her mouth fallen open, before she closes it quickly and forces a bright smile. "Um, sure," she says, stumbling through the words, "you're on buddy. Now go get yourself another gutter ball." He narrows his eyes, then pushes himself out of the chair.

Watching as he tries to line up his shot, Lorelai gives herself only a moment to think that maybe Luke has just asked her out on a date before she chastises herself, remembering the way he'd said so definitively that they were friends. It makes her wonder if everything that they do from now on that resembles things they used to do when they were together will be uncomfortable, will make her wonder like this.

If anything, the discomfort makes them throw themselves even more thoroughly into the competition, and after two games they've each got one win. They're almost even at the end of the tie-breaking game, until Luke throws a gutter ball during the same frame that Lorelai gets her first strike of the evening. Her shriek earns her cheers from the younger girls.

"That's what you get for telling me I can't do this," she says to Luke. He just groans, dropping his chin in defeat as he lifts his hat off his head and scratches behind his ear.

Lorelai is still grinning a few minutes later when the girls finish up and they head back to the diner. Luke goes behind the counter to gather drinks and pie and the rest of them string themselves out along the counter, talking easily as the girls' Cokes and Lorelai's coffee appear in front of them. As they're all finishing their pie, Marcia's mom pulls up in front of the diner with a minivan and Luke chats briefly with her after he ushers the girls out. Before the car door shuts, Lorelai can see him give a casual wave to April as well as to her friends.

By the time he comes back in, Lorelai has finished her coffee. He glances at her cup as he walks toward the coffee maker. "More coffee?"

She shakes her head. "I should go, but thanks for the coffee, pie, everything. It was fun."

"Yeah it was," he admits. "Thank you for coming." He pauses for a moment. "I'm sorry if it was weird."

"No," she says, giving a fluid wave of her hand as she gets up off the stool. "Not weird. I mean, except for the whole wearing of the rented shoes thing, but otherwise totally not weird." She's stretching the truth of course, if not outright lying, because there's no question that it's been weird. It's strange territory for them: being together outside the diner, Lorelai spending time with April, having their love life be the subject of teenage gossip. But she can't talk to him about any of that. She can't tell him that she knows what a mess she's made of her life and how much she regrets it.

It's possible he's thinking some of the same things because he watches her skeptically, but then he nods once. "Well, good. I guess I'll see you then."

"That you will. G'night, Luke."

* * *

She knows that April's flight is on Saturday morning, so she stops by the diner after lunch, during the mid-afternoon lull to see if Luke wants some company. He's been typically stoic about having to say goodbye to April again, but she can see the pain that he's hiding and she wants to ease it for him, the way that he has for her throughout their long history. And, she has to confess selfishly, it's been nice to be feel needed, to know that her presence is important to him.

As she walks up to the counter, he gives her an appreciative smile and she asks softly, "How are you?"

It says something, she thinks, that he doesn't brush her off, doesn't write himself off as fine. Instead he lets out a long sigh. "It's all so uncertain."

"Did you talk to Anna?"

He nods. "Yeah. I think we agreed that I'll visit there for Memorial Day weekend, which is right after she gets out of school. And I think she might come here for three weeks in July." He looks up at Lorelai and explains, "She's signed up for a biotech program then – something she did last summer too. Anna's not happy about that, but April begged her."

"So, April wants to see you, huh?" Lorelai asks, smiling.

He shrugs and busies himself with the coffee maker. "Maybe, or her friends…I don't know. She did have a really good time this visit. Even Anna admitted that."

"See?" Lorelai points out triumphantly.

He turns toward her, looking confused. "What?"

"You _do_ matter to her."

"Yeah?" he asks, and the vulnerability in his expression makes her heart break.

"Absolutely."

"I'll just feel better when there's something legal in place so that I don't have to depend on Anna making the decisions about when I can see her."

Over the next few days, Lorelai spends a little more time at the diner than usual, encouraged by the fact that Luke seems to be confiding in her, depending on her a bit to relieve his loneliness. And, she has to admit, she's lonely too. The destruction of her marriage had damaged the foundation of her relationship with Rory and the two of them have only just begun to repair it.

There had been harsh, angry words, which Rory had eventually apologized for, but what hurts even more is the disappointment that still lingers in her daughter's eyes. She thinks that they'll find what they've lost again, but Lorelai knows that she owes it to her daughter to be patient and understanding. So, in the meantime, she and Luke each let their friendship be a balm for their respective pain.

When April's been gone for a week, Lorelai realizes that not only has she seen Luke every one of those days, but that she feels a subtle shift in their relationship. It's not something she can quite put her finger on, so she wonders if she's imagining it when she thinks that maybe Luke has been a little warmer toward her since April's visit. It seems like his smile is a bit broader when he sees her, and that he spends more time asking how she's doing. It's as if they're one step more comfortable with each other, though she suspects that if they are actually any closer, it's simply because of his gratitude for the fact that she's been listening. Whatever the reason, in the last few days she's lingered long over her dinner, her playful teasing and his exasperated smiles approaching their lively banter of old.

It's one of those nights, when the conversation has steered dangerously close to flirting, that Luke says casually, "So, you haven't been after me to take you out to dinner. I figured you'd be trying to come up with the most expensive place you could to stick it to me."

She gulps at his statement, but then recovers, "Oh, you were whining so much over your loss I thought your manhood would suffer if I insisted on it."

"I was not whining," he says firmly, "and my manhood is perfectly fine."

Lorelai can't help but laugh and she so desperately wants to turn that into a 'dirty,' but it's just one step too far.

Luke interrupts her thoughts. "So, when do you want to go?"

"Huh?"

"To dinner," he says, then adds decisively, "How about Tuesday?"

She realizes with a start that he's serious, that they're really going to do this. "Uh, okay. Tuesday works."

"Good," he says, "let's do that then."

She just nods numbly.

Over the next few days, she has to keep reminding herself that this isn't a date, that it's just a friend making good on a bet. Because of that, she insists on meeting him at the diner, telling him that it will be easiest for her to just come directly there from the inn. Even so, she ends up going home to freshen her make-up and change her clothes, anyway.

He takes her to a restaurant they've never been to before and she wonders if that's intentional. It's one that he's been to with April, and on the way there when she asks what kind of food they serve, he says, "It's one of those places that claims to be 'fusion' or something because they can't figure out what kind of food they want to serve, but it's actually pretty good."

Lorelai finds herself surprised that the whole night isn't more uncomfortable. They have a few awkward moments, but lately they've grown even more at ease with one another and not quite so guarded with each and every word.

When their food arrives, Lorelai points at his vegetable lasagna. "Don't tell me you've gone vegetarian. Next thing I know you'll be vegan or macrobiotic or something."

He chuckles. "Don't worry. There's not much chance of that. I went to this vegan restaurant a while back, and trust me, I don't eat much red meat, but I'm not prepared to give up eggs and dairy."

Lorelai smiles, "Well that's a relief." She looks at him curiously. "So why'd you go? Did you take April?"

He looks embarrassed suddenly, averting his eyes as he mumbles, "Went with April's swim coach."

"You asked out April's swim coach?" she asks, beating back the pang of jealousy with a bright, incredulous smile.

He shifts in his seat. "Well, uh, she asked me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I uh…I picked up April one day at swimming practice and we were talking and I mentioned I didn't swim so she talked me into taking an adult swim class, and…"

"You took a swim class?" Her surprise is a cover for the sudden realization that while she was off living her life with Christopher, Luke was living his own life as well.

"Yeah," he says, a touch defensively, "so?"

"No, it's just if she got to see you in swim trunks it's no wonder she asked you out." The image brings with it a wave of involuntary desire and the words are out before she can think them through, stated in that 'duh' tone of voice that's necessary for things that are just too obvious to be denied.

He flushes and she struggles valiantly to tug her foot out of her mouth. "I mean, it's just that you look good in swim trunks. Not that I ever saw you in…we never went swimming or anything. But I just, "she lets out a breath sharply. "Sorry, this is stupid. I just understand why she'd ask you out. Sorry-"

"Lorelai, it's okay. You don't need to apologize."

"I just didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." She feels her own discomfort as a stifling heat, as if she's dressed too warmly in an overheated room. Even without pressing her hands to her cheeks, she knows that they're hot and flushed.

He smirks. "I didn't say I was uncomfortable." She can't help but wonder what he's thinking, if the flirtation she thinks she hears is genuine.

She's been trying to deny her feelings, to pretend they're not there, but this ridiculous conversation makes it clear that not only can she not hide them from herself, but that she's apparently not hiding them from him either. And she doesn't have a clue what to do about it.

All night she's been fighting to remind herself that they aren't together, that he's just her friend. She'd fought back the warmth when he'd told her she looked nice, the comfort at their easy laughter, and the flat-out desire when she'd stupidly brought up his swim trunks. On the ride home, though, with him sitting right beside her, she comes face to face with the fact that she still has deep feelings for this man, the kinds of feelings it's going to be hard to ignore if she spends the rest of her life eating in his diner.

When he pulls up to her house, she thanks him quickly and goes for the door, needing to get away from him before she's betrayed by her uncooperative emotions. But he gets out too, meeting her in front of the car as she heads toward her porch. He keeps pace with her. "I'll, uh," he gestures toward her door, "walk you."

"You don't have-"

"I know," he cuts in. "I just wanted to say thanks. For everything. For giving me advice. For listening." He pauses, as if he's about to make an admission. "For helping me see that I can do the dad thing."

They're still walking and she hears his feet on the steps, the creak from his shoes a little louder and deeper than the one from hers. When she gets to the top, she turns slowly. "You're already a good dad. You didn't need me to tell you how to do it."

He looks truly moved for a moment, but then he shrugs. "It helps," he pauses, "that you think that. I'm not sure you're right, but it helps that you think that."

"I've never had any doubt that you'd be an amazing dad."

She expects the grateful smile that follows, but she's not ready for the look of adoration when his eyes meet hers. She's not prepared for how much she wants this to have actually been a date. All night she's been running from her feelings, trying to keep one step ahead of them, but the effort has left her drained, and she's losing ground. There's nothing she wants more than to stop running, to ease the ache inside. And the affection that she sees in his expression, the reminder of all he used to tell her simply by looking at her, is the final blow to her waning strength and she is hit with a double blow of relief and defeat.

She watches him whisper, "Thanks," and barely registers the words, instead feeling every emotion she's kept hidden bubbling to the surface, showing themselves in her hopeful eyes and tentative smile.

He reaches for her and his hand on her elbow is warm. He's leaning in and she thinks that she is too. She feels fear and love and hope in equal measure and the combination is intoxicating. The moment isn't coming fast enough, but at the same time, she doesn't want it to come too quickly. She wants to savor the anticipation.

She can feel his breath on her face and she reaches to rest her free hand on his chest, seeking the warmth of him under the sweater she's been trying all night not to think of as his 'date' clothing. It may be that slight pressure that alerts him, that stops the moment before it starts. His eyes open fully and she sees it all reflected in them: pain, guilt, regret and desire. He jerks his head around, looking at her door, across the grass to his truck, down at her shoes before his eyes seem to land on a banister he's fixed at least twice.

His eyes are averted, but she can see his lips move when he says, "I'm sorry. I can't..." He looks up and meets her eyes for only a moment, before he looks down again, his voice pained when he repeats, "I'm sorry."

Lorelai just stands there for a moment, trying to reign in the last little shreds of her dignity, but they keep being blown out of her reach by an invisible wind and she finally just pulls her keys out of her purse, jamming the house key into the lock and struggling to open the door as quickly as possible. When the door is closed and the latch has clicked, she hears the slow plodding of his footsteps down the steps, and a few minutes later the harsh roar of the truck's engine.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to the super-fast and insightful work of my betas as well as the need for some distraction, I've got one more chapter before I disappear for a while. Thanks so much to **iheartbridges**, **KinoFille**, and **Lula Bo** for all their help and encouragement.

* * *

Luke strides back to the truck, trying to get as far as possible from the images his mind has conjured up. Thoughts of Lorelai sharing her house, her life, and her bed with Christopher cause the contents of his stomach to roil. He drives recklessly the short distance to the diner and even so, he very nearly has to pull over to keep from retching inside the truck.

Pulling in behind the diner, he throws himself out of the truck, shutting the door and backing up against it as he takes in several deep breaths. When it feels as though the imminent danger has passed, he turns and plods up the stairs, dropping himself into the nearest chair and bending forward to hold his head in his hands.

His forehead feels cool, but clammy, and he can feel a cold sticky sweat gathering across the small of his back.

He'd let himself get pulled in again, let himself think that the hurt had diminished, and right now he's not sure whether he's more angry at her for what she did so many months ago or at himself for wanting her.

It's not at all clear to him what he was thinking when he leaned in to kiss her, but he's fairly certain that he's just ruined whatever fragile friendship they've managed to resurrect. It's just that he's gotten so comfortable being with her again. He's let himself care about her, look forward to seeing her, and admitted to himself that he misses her.

So when they had this dinner that wasn't really a date, and she'd started talking about him in swim trunks, he let himself be that guy. He let himself get cocky that she was flustered. He'd let himself think that they could do this again.

But when he'd felt the weight of her palm on his chest, he couldn't help thinking who else she'd been with, who else she'd touched. And he'd looked around him and all he could see was the house that was supposed to be Luke and Lorelai's, until it ended up being Lorelai and Christopher's. Standing there, on her porch, the specter of Christopher had loomed large over the house, over her, and he doesn't know how to ignore it.

What he remembers more than any of that, though, is the devastated look on her face, the shock and revulsion that she'd turned inward, so that the last thing he'd seen before she'd turned to go inside was a look of complete and utter self-disgust.

He'd wanted, in that moment, to apologize, but there's nothing he could have said that would make this better and hundreds of things that could make it worse. In fact, he thinks, it's entirely possible that he's ruined any chance of rebuilding their friendship, which over the course of the last few months, he's come to depend on.

It's that thought that stays with him as he hauls himself over to the bed and flips on the television in the hopes of distracting himself from his idiocy. As he tries to fall asleep he lets himself admit that he needs her. That he needs her in a way that might have saved them if he'd been able to let it happen a year ago.

The shrill clamor of the phone startles him awake and his first reaction is surprise that he'd finally managed to drift off after all. He's slumped back against the headboard, his clothes rumpled and damp. In front of him the television flickers almost soundlessly with images from some unknown program. His brain still fuzzy, the second ring shocks him all over again and he stumbles out of bed and across the apartment to answer it. His voice croaky with sleep, he says, "Hello?"

He's barely got the word out when he hears an agitated female voice. "You can't do that."

The fog has not quite lifted from his brain and it's been so long since he's talked on the phone to her that he just lets out a baffled, "Lorelai?"

"Yes," she says impatiently. "You can't do that."

He closes his eyes against his confusion, and asks, "Can't do what?"

"You just can't do that," she repeats as if she hadn't heard him. "Not now." There's a slightly hysterical edge to her voice.

"Lorelai, it's," he runs a hand through his hair as he glances at his clock, "2:17 in the morning. What are you talking about?"

"My clock says 2:21," she responds quickly.

"Your clock says what?" He pauses and lets out a frustrated huff. "You didn't call me to compare times on our clocks. What the hell is going on?"

"You can't take me out on a not-date and flirt with me and walk me to the door and…" she pauses and he can hear her suck in a breath and when she speaks again her voice is soft, strained, "go to kiss me. You can't do all that and then tell me that you can't." The hysteria is back and as she goes on her voice grows louder, angrier. "Can't, Luke? Can't what? I mean, I didn't ask for this. God Luke, what were you thinking? Were you trying to get back at me for hurting you? Were you trying to mess with me? Or do you just not even care about me at all?"

She's hitting on just what he'd been thinking but her accusations, her anger, set him off. "Not care about _you_? You're the one who couldn't wait to get married, to come back and live here with him, in the house that we renovated for us to live in. How much could you have possibly cared about us, about me, if you did that?"

"Luke, you _know_ I cared about you. How could you think-"

"Dammit Lorelai, you married him. You _married_ him," he bites out, the words sharp and pointed.

He's not sure what he's expecting her to say, but the icy silence on her end of the line unnerves him and he begins to pace slowly around the room. When she finally speaks, her voice is low and even. "I know that I made a mess of my life, that getting married was a mistake, but we were over, Luke. You weren't a choice anymore so you don't get to yell at me about it. Rory she gets to be angry, and Gigi, and probably Christopher, but you don't get to lecture me about getting married too soon. You don't get to be upset that I moved on.

There's a kernel of truth in what she's saying; even he can see that. But somehow they've skipped over the bigger betrayal, the one that really tore them apart, the one thing that he doesn't know how to get past. "Moved on?" he says bitterly. His body tightens and stills in reaction to the words and the memories, his free hand clenching into a tight fist. "Is that what we're calling it these days? Your fiancé doesn't jump high enough and you just go fuck your ex? Or were you just celebrating being rid of the 'for now' guy?"

He hears a sharp intake of breath and he steels himself for an angry response to the venom in his words. What follows, though, is a strained protest, "You weren't ever the 'for now' guy. You were _everything_ to me." Even through the fury and the pain he can hear the loss in her voice and it takes him back to her frantic words on the street in front of the diner when she pleaded for him to elope with her.

"You have a funny way of showing it," he responds, intending sarcasm, though the image he has of her desperately declaring her love for him takes the sting out of his words.

"I know," she says softly, and he thinks he hears her voice break, "God, Luke, I _know_ I ruined it. You were one of the best things that ever happened to me and I killed any chance for us." She takes a breath and he knows her well enough that he can tell she's fighting back tears. "I hurt you probably more than I've ever hurt anyone, and I…I never expected you to get over it. I don't deserve that." Her voice is faint as she goes on, "I don't deserve you."

"Lorelai…" he starts, not knowing how to respond to her regret. In an attempt to calm his thoughts, he restarts pacing.

"No, Luke," she says, her voice stronger now. "It's okay. I get it. But, if…if you don't want to be with me, can't be with me, you can't dangle it out there like that."

"That's not what I was…I thought…" As he struggles to put together the words he realizes that the mental conflict he's having comes from the fact that he wishes he could let go of his anger and make it work with her again. It's a startling recognition, a confession he's not fully ready for, so he's only able to mumble his way through the rest of the sentence. "I thought we could work it out. I wanted…"

She picks up on the indecision as his voice trails off. "Luke, I can't go back and change what happened. All I can do is tell you how sorry I am, but if you're not sure…" She's quiet for a long moment. "I spent so long last year wondering if you really wanted…wondering if it was over. I can't go through that again."

"I never stopped wanting you."

He can barely hear her reply. "You let me walk away."

"Well, if I'd known you would…" he says helplessly, shaking his head. The cold night air in the apartment has penetrated his damp clothing and the chill makes him shiver involuntarily. He holds his arms close to his body for warmth as he drops onto the bed in defeat. Letting out a sigh, he says with frustration, "I don't know how to let go of that."

"I never asked you to, Luke. I never expected…I just thought…I thought at some point you could stand to look at me and eventually we could be friends. But now…"

He can hear the sadness in her voice and it strikes a chord in him, awakens the same fears. It makes it hard to ignore his own role in the destruction of their relationship. It would be so much easier if her friendship these last weeks hadn't reminded him what they'd meant to each other, hadn't made him want to regain that closeness. "When did you start thinking that it was over?"

She doesn't say anything for a long time, but he can hear her breathing on the other end of the phone. "When I talked to Anna," she says quietly. "She said we had to be married, and I tried to tell her we were good, we were real, but even as I was saying it I knew it wasn't true. I knew…" He hears her let out a sigh and can picture her shoulders dropping in defeat. "She said we had to be married and marriage wasn't even on your radar screen."

"We were going to get married," he insists.

"Really?" she asks, and her calm disbelief unnerves him. "It didn't seem like it was ever going to happen."

"Just because I wouldn't drop what I was doing and run off to Maryland with you?" he asks, irritated.

"I asked if you loved me and you were more worried about the fact that I talked to Anna." Her voice grows smaller. "You let me walk away. How could you do that if you cared at all? How could you do that if you loved me?"

"Of course I lo-" He catches himself, "loved you." The grammatical stumble stills him and his fingers, which had been scratching idly against his pants, freeze. He hasn't let his mind go in that direction in so long that he isn't even sure what he truly feels anymore.

"I didn't know that," he hears her say, her voice faint and vulnerable. "I didn't think that you wanted me anymore."

A harsh chill falls over him hearing her words, hearing the pain and the uncertainty. He can picture her in the bed they used to share, sitting up against the headboard, her pajama covered legs curled up protectively against her body. There's a big part of him that wishes he were next to her so he could pull her into his arms and hold her.

"Lorelai," he breathes, "I told you I loved you. You asked and I told you. What made you think…?"

"You didn't want me to meet your _daughter_ Luke. You didn't want me to know her."

There's a note of desperation in the way that she says 'daughter' that reminds him of the fight he and Lorelai had after Rory and Jess' car accident several years ago. Reminds him of the tone in her voice when she screamed at him that nothing was important because _Rory_ was in the hospital. That he had an obligation to _Rory_.

He'd yelled right back because he knew he wasn't responsible for what had happened to Rory, that it was possible not even Jess was responsible. And he'd decided to hold a grudge for reasons that he's not sure even he understood. He'd let her apologize over and over, let her stay frustrated when he didn't treat her with his typical warmth.

If he admits it to himself, he'd been angry at Lorelai's single-minded focus. That nothing else mattered to her besides her daughter. As much as he loved Rory, he wanted Lorelai to have one moment of concern for his nephew, perhaps a thought to Luke himself. One moment in which she could remember their friendship and be able to support each other.

But just then, it was all about Rory, and knowing Lorelai he shouldn't have expected anything less. This is the woman who cleaned toilets and lived in a shed, who gave up everything, her family even, to make a better life for her daughter. And then gave up her pride many years later in order to secure the best future for her.

So when she says 'daughter' like that, and he hears the strain in her voice, the hopelessness, he wonders why it's taken until now for him to get it.

She can't imagine a world in which a child is not the center of one's life.

It's only one step beyond that, to the point where she think that the existence of a conflict means that there must be a choice. And because she's Lorelai, she can't imagine any other choice than your child.

Something clicks in him then, because it is after all one of the things that made him fall in love with her, the all-consuming nature of her love for Rory.

"It didn't have to be a choice," he says without thinking, realizing too late that he's responding to his thoughts rather than to her words.

"What?"

"It didn't have to be a choice between you and April."

It's really something he's just realizing for himself, that he'd created a conflict where none was necessary, but Lorelai asks anxiously, "Did you think that I was making you choose? Did you seriously think that I would make you do that?"

"No," he reassures her quickly, "I never thought that. You, of all people, would never make me do that."

He thinks he hears a sigh of relief and it touches him that it's so important to her that he knows that she'd never want to come between him and his daughter. It's not until now, he thinks, that he's really understood just how much it had hurt Lorelai to exclude her – what it had meant to her that he didn't want her to know his daughter.

And then suddenly he's apologizing and telling her how much he wishes he'd been less a jerk, how much it had meant to him for her to help with April's birthday party. And then she's apologizing too, for letting Patty cover up her pathetic behavior at Lane's wedding, for hiding from him, and for sleeping with Christopher.

When she says the last, he hears a little hiccupping sob.

"What?" he asks softly.

"It's just crazy that I thought we could actually be friends again." Her voice sounds hopeless, broken.

"We still can," he reassures her.

"I don't know." He hears a faint rustle and somehow knows that she's shaking her head.

Panic creeps up his spine. "This can't be it."

"I don't know if I can do this."

"Do you really want to walk away?"

"No. God, Luke. I want…I just can't pretend anymore…" Exhaustion has made her voice gravelly and low and he can hear the sadness in every word.

"I'm not asking you to-" He stops himself, and then says, his voice gentle, "Look, you must be so tired. Why don't we talk later, after we've slept?"

"What does it matter?" she asks bitterly. "You _can't_, remember? You _can't_ get over it."

He hears the words, knows he's the one who said them, but they don't ring quite true just now. Mostly because somehow, in the time they've been talking, after everything they've said, what they feel for each other has become bigger than the ways they've hurt each other.

And just thinking that, he can feel the specter of Christopher, can see the man himself diminished. He's not sure he's ready to say all of that, or that she's ready to hear it, so he says simply, "Things may look different in the light of day, after we've gotten some sleep."

He can practically hear her narrowing her eyes. "Don't say things you don't mean."

He nods, but then remembers that she can't see him. "You're important to me."

She protests, "Okay, but-"

"You're important enough that I don't want to decide it's over at 3:57 in the morning."

He half expects her to remind him that it's really 4:01, and when she doesn't it just shows how much this has all taken out of her, that her weariness goes deeper than the fact that it's the middle of the night. "I just…Luke, I don't know if I can do all this again."

"Can we just talk?" he pleads. "When it's not the middle of the night? Let me make us some dinner."

When she finally answers, her assent is not hopeful, but rather a gesture of defeat, acquiescing to his pleading, but he takes what he can get. They say goodbye sleepily and he walks across the apartment to hang up the phone, feeling in every muscle the stiffness from sitting still too long. When he returns to his bed, though his fatigue is not only physical, but also emotional, it's quite a while before he's able to sleep.

_To be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I'm just borrowing them until TPTB fix what was broken.

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry for the long hiatus between chapters and I hope you all enjoy this and the final chapter, which should follow as soon as I can edit it. Again, huge thanks to the wonderful betas: **iheartbridges**, **KinoFille** and **Lula Bo**. Thanks also to _Battlestar Galactica_ for helping to inspire this chapter.

* * *

She's spent the day talking herself out of canceling on Luke. She dreads the continuation of their early morning conversation, in large part because she has no idea what Luke wants. There are words she remembers him saying that feed her hope, but by mid-afternoon she's convinced herself that the most she can expect is for them to find a way to remain friends. It's the only future she can see for their relationship, and being resigned to that is the only way that she can make herself have dinner with him.

She arrives a few minutes late, dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, pleased to see him in his usual attire, glad that he's not making this into a big production. The food is reassuringly casual as well, a simple pasta dish with chicken, Caesar salad, and bread. It all reinforces the image she has of two friends working out their differences.

As he stirs in the last of the ingredients into the pasta, he passes her the salad bowl and tongs, directing her to toss the lettuce and dressing, then add the cheese and croutons. She starts to protest, to make a joke about her lack of skill in the kitchen, but something in the offhand way he'd asked her makes her swallow the words. He's so very rarely asked for her help. It's something they've teased each other about: her hopelessness in the kitchen and his perfectionist attitude toward cooking. The fact that he's asked this time is one more thing that sets this dinner apart from every other dinner they've shared here.

It does give her something to do, she admits to herself, biting her lip as she focuses on the task. She's so intently watching the dressing coat the leaves of lettuce, she doesn't notice right away that Luke has stopped what he's doing and is looking at her with a bemused smile on his face.

"What?" she asks, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she recovers her wits. "You wanted it tossed, right? And didn't you say something about cheese and croutons?"

He just nods, chuckling as he passes them to her. While she finishes the additions to the salad he brings the pasta to the table, pulls the bread from the oven, and opens a bottle of wine. There's something in the rhythm of getting the table set and ready that has brought some level of ease and familiarity to the situation and though she knows the plan is to talk, she forestalls the heavier topics with compliments about the food and teasing comments about the way that he'd let April liven up his apartment. He's just pointed out the mask that April had given him for Christmas, his voice proud as he describes a process involving paper maché and drinking straws in noses, and Lorelai just stops and rests her chin on her folded hands, watching as he gestures and smiles.

After a moment, he looks up and gives her a curious glance. "What?"

"You are so freakin' cute." She'd meant it as a friendly observation, but it comes out more flirtatious than she'd intended, and she inwardly cringes as she waits for his reaction.

Luckily, he seems to take the teasing for what it is and just says gruffly, "Stop."

"No, seriously. I mean, here you are and you always said you're not a 'kid' guy, that you wouldn't have the first idea what to do with a kid, but look at you." She gestures toward him, her hand waving in the space between them. "You're a natural."

"Stop," he repeats, softer this time, his face flushing.

Lorelai answers matter-of-factly. "Well, maybe if I keep saying it you'll finally believe it."

His eyes narrow slightly as he shakes his head, but then he sighs, looking down at his lap. "Thank you," he finally says.

She gives a small shrug. "That's what I'm here for."

"Oh, is that so?" he asks jokingly and she just shrugs again in response. He's quiet for a moment before he says softly, "It's not just that, you know."

"What?"

He glances up at her shyly and then ducks his head again. "It's just…even after all that happened, you've been so encouraging about April." He pauses for a moment, and she wonders if he's thinking about how ironic it is that he's thanking her for helping with his daughter when it was his keeping her away from April that contributed to their breakup. His words sound just a little bit like an apology, but before she can respond, he takes a breath and continues speaking. "But what's really helped – what's made the biggest difference – is your company."

It catches her by surprise, the way that he can say, in just a few words, how important she is to him, and she has to swallow over a lump in her throat at his unexpected openness. It's such a non-Luke type of thing to admit that she has to resist the urge to joke it away with some sort of self-deprecating remark, but he's entirely serious, so she finally just says, "Me too."

"Huh?"

"It's been hard since…" she grimaces as she approaches the forbidden topic, "since…"

"You and, uh," Luke gestures toward her, unwilling to say the name himself.

"Split up," Lorelai says quickly, mentally throttling herself for the direction of the conversation.

He's suddenly apologetic, saying sincerely, "I'm sorry. That must have been hard. And here I've spent all this time leaning on you about April. I'm-"

"No," she cuts in, then corrects herself. "Yes it was hard, but not-" She pauses, shaking her head. "I tried to make it work and it didn't, so yeah, it was hard, but that's not…that's not what I meant. It's just…Rory and I didn't see eye to eye on everything and she and I…well, it's been hard."

She thinks she sees something like understanding flash across his face and it makes her wonder if he's noticed the way that she avoids talking about Rory, because it's so much easier to talk to him about his own daughter than about the reasons she keeps managing to disappoint her own. She sees sympathy, even pity perhaps, in his expression when he says softly, "I'm really sorry."

"Oh, it's okay," she says with a little wave of her hand. "We'll be…we're talking. It's just….strained. So yeah, the company has been good."

The air is heavy with the weight of their admissions and as much as she'd like to lighten the atmosphere a bit, the moment is too serious to back out of immediately. They've built a fragile understanding, and made another tentative step back to the friendship they used to have and the silence that surrounds them seems to be the way that they acknowledge that to each other.

She thinks it's possible that minutes have passed by the time he nods toward her plate and asks if she's done eating. She just nods, then proceeds to help him clear the table and put away the leftovers, using the little tasks to help her brain orient itself to this world in which they've admitted to one another how much they still depend on each other.

It shouldn't feel so strange, but it puts her off-kilter in the same way that rearranging the furniture in a room makes it feel unfamiliar. She'd like to think she could find her way around their relationship with her eyes closed, but nothing seems to be where she expects it to be anymore. And since she's never been inclined to shine a light on, to examine too carefully those things that most challenge her, she falls back on bumping around in the dark clumsily and laughing at her awkwardness.

"So, did I hear you say something earlier about dessert?" she asks lightly, flashing him a mischievous grin.

"Of course," he says dryly, playing along. "I made cheesecake-"

"With chocolate sauce?" she cuts in, pleading.

"With raspberry sauce," he corrects, smiling when she gives him a little pout, then sighing. "And chocolate sauce," he admits.

She just grins like a little kid and says sweetly, "Thank you, Luke."

It's all in fun, she thinks, this little exchange, until he adds, his voice low, "Well, I know you, Lorelai."

It's the unintentionally sexy tone of his voice that makes her think about how true that is, about how much he knows about her that no one else on this earth knows. She's still feeling the goosebumps running up and down her arms when he adds, "There's a catch though."

"What?" she asks, rubbing her arms in an effort to bring herself back to thinking about dessert.

"If I'm going to make chocolate sauce, you have to finish the raspberry sauce."

"Me? I don't know how…what if I screw it up?"

"I already mixed the raspberries with the sugar. You just have to strain it." He fumbles for a moment in the cabinet before pulling out a bowl, spoon, and mesh strainer and placing them in front of her. "And the only way you can screw it up is by missing the bowl, which is why that's a small strainer." He pauses for a moment to trace the circumference of the strainer with his finger. "And this is an extra large bowl," he adds with a mocking grin as he points out the much larger size of the bowl.

She just glares at him and it's only as he steps behind her to grab the raspberry sauce mixture from the refrigerator that she realizes how unnerved she'd been to have him standing so close to her. She turns in anticipation of being handed the container, taking it quickly and spooning some of the sauce into the strainer, her breath evening out as Luke steps a couple of feet away to cook the chocolate sauce at the stove.

It only takes her a few minutes to press all of the raspberries through the strainer. When she's finished, she places the strainer aside, then picks up the bowl and holds it toward Luke. "Check it out. No spills."

"Yeah," he smirks, "you're a regular Martha Stewart. Will I be pressing my luck if I ask you to squeeze about half a lemon worth of juice in there and stir it up?"

"Hmm, I don't know. That requires use of a knife, right?"

He just chuckles and shakes his head, using his free hand to point her in the direction of the lemon. Once she's successfully cut it in half, squeezed the juice through the strainer and stirred it into the sauce, she holds up a spoonful for him to taste. "Not bad," he says approvingly.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," she says with a teasing pout, as she peers into the pan on the stove. "Still melting?" she asks impatiently. "I could make three more batches of mine in the time it's taking you to make yours."

"Yours, huh?" he asks, pointing. "So that's your specialty now? Pushing raspberries through a strainer?"

"I'm sure I could do the part where you throw sugar on top of them and let them sit in the refrigerator too," she retorts with a grin. "I even know that you're supposed to float them in a bowl of water to wash them instead of using running water."

"Wow, you are an expert," he says sardonically. "You'll be shooing Sookie out of the Dragonfly's kitchen in no time."

"Just finish yours already. I'm getting impatient for dessert."

"At least that's nothing new," Luke says, looking up at her from where his head is bent over the stove, "but it won't be too much longer."

He does, in fact, finish up fairly quickly and proceeds to serve up two slices of cheesecake, one drizzled lightly with both sauces and one covered more generously. He hands them to her, nodding his head toward the couch as he pours a cup of coffee for her and hot water over a tea bag for himself.

She settles herself at one end of the couch, fidgeting nervously in anticipation of a 'talk.' She's resigned herself to friendship, but the little flutters that she'd felt in her gut while they'd been cooking make her want to put that off a little longer. Make it difficult to imagine setting aside all that she feels for him.

She knows she'll do it though. She needs him in her life – needs his friendship and knows he needs hers – it's a need that's greater than her desire to be loved by him.

But in the meantime, until the conversation is forced upon her, she teases him about the ready-made pizza she'd seen in his freezer when they'd put away the food from dinner, asks him what else he's given in to just because his daughter has asked. He takes the ribbing well, confessing to the occasional stop at Dunkin' Donuts, and admitting he'd let April drag him two towns over because she'd heard about a particular restaurant having amazing chili dogs.

As Lorelai watches his expression and listens to his confessions, it makes her wonder for a moment if things would have been different if she'd pushed more. That if she'd trusted him more, and told him sooner how she felt, if he'd have been willing to bend a little for her. She's truly not sure, though, so she swallows back the pang of regret that brings, and tells him that the next time April visits the two of them will have to dream up some deliciously disgusting things to add to the menu. It's goofy and silly, but it's the only way Lorelai knows how to get through this night, to navigate this place that until now has always been so familiar.

He eventually offers her a second slice of cheesecake if she'll only stop her teasing. When he brings it to her, it's dripping with chocolate and raspberries and he's anticipated her need for a spoon with which to scoop it all up.

She just grins as she finishes every last bite, though by the time she's done, she's jittery under his attentive gaze. When she's licked her spoon for the last time, she jumps up, taking her plate and his with her to the sink before returning for their mugs. She's barely begun to rinse the plates when she hears him say, "Oh, just leave them. I'll do them later."

"It's no big deal," she says airily. "You made the whole meal." She can hear him start to protest again and she insists, "I know you hate leaving dirty dishes in the sink and letting the food get all dried on, 'cause then you have to scrub and it takes twice as long to clean up."

When he speaks again, he's right behind her, his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her away from the sink. "Really Lorelai, you don't need to do the dishes. Let's just sit-"

It's just a casual touch. Lorelai knows he means nothing by it, but his hands are warm through her sweater and she can feel his breath when he speaks. Spinning around in reaction, she stumbles backwards as she steps away from him. She's conscious of his hand sliding down her arm as she moves, of his hands holding her wrists to keep her from tripping. She has to close her eyes to try to regain her equilibrium, but when she opens them her breath is more ragged than she'd like to admit. Though she's sure he doesn't realize he's doing it, Luke's thumbs start to trace little circles on the skin under her sleeves, and if she'd been thrown before, this puts her completely out of balance. Because it was just last night that he'd been horrified that he'd almost kissed her. Now though, his eyes are clouded and they both just stand there for a moment, her mind a mess of fear and desire, his hunger clear as he watches her, breathing hard.

Lorelai has no idea how much time has passed, but when she feels a pull on her wrist she honestly can't tell if she's trying to pull away, if he's pulling her toward him, or if she's given in and tugged him toward her. What she does know is that his kiss is fierce and hungry and when she feels his lips against hers, she knows that her kisses are just as fierce, just as hungry.

His hand wraps around the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. His grip tightens, but the little needles of pain running up the nape of her neck are dulled by the crush of his lips against hers. His other hand holds her tightly against his warm body while his lips trace a bruising path along her jaw.

She's got a vise grip on his upper arm and his flannel shirt fisted in her other hand. The nips she makes with her teeth aren't gentle and she thinks at one point she can taste blood when she's got his lower lip between hers.

He moans, and backs her up against the refrigerator, catching the back of her hip on the handle. He tries to push aside her sweater from her shoulder, then gives up and pulls it up roughly. When a few sharp jerks fail to free her hands, he just grasps at the bundled sweater and holds her wrists above her head as his other hand snakes a path down one arm. She whimpers as his heated fingers trace down her ribs and he spreads his palm across her belly.

Lorelai tugs one of her hands loose, and then the other, tossing her sweater aside before reaching for the buttons on his shirt. The first few come undone, but the fifth is persistent and she finally gives up and rips the last few free, shoving the shirt off his shoulders and tossing it to the side.

There's need and desperation in their kisses, in the way that they hold onto each other, in the way that her nails bite into his skin, in the way that he presses his body into hers. It's intoxicating, heady, and underneath it all, there's something else, a sharp edge of anger that neither one of them is hiding any longer.

She holds him to her like she couldn't during the ultimatum, surprising herself at the residual hostility she feels about that. She feels her nails dig in an effort to prevent him from walking away.

She uses the anger to help build a wall to keep out the hope and love, to keep out everything she wants to feel for him but can't allow herself to feel. The emotions that will only get her hurt again. So she stacks brick upon brick as she pulls him closer, craving his touch, his need. And she lets herself think that this is them saying goodbye, that this is them getting each other out of their systems.

And it's working, she thinks, as he presses her so tightly to the refrigerator that she can feel his magnets digging into her back. She can make this about need and desire, about hunger. Until he reaches to grasp her hands. Until he's groaning into her ear, "God, Lorelai."

It's not the desperation in his words that does it, it's not the ferocity, it's the submission, as though he's lost all resistance. And at his words, a tiny thread of hope snakes its way in between the bricks of her wall and her defenses crumble, the debris spilling down around her.

She's furious at herself for letting him in, for letting down her guard, and she twists her hands away from him, scrunching them into fists that pound on his back mercilessly. But he doesn't pull away from her, he doesn't wrench away from her blows. He holds her tighter and it makes the last shred of her resistance break.

She buries her face in his neck, feeling his pulse racing against her lips, and inhaling the musky scent of his skin. Her arms are locked around his body painfully and all she can do now is hold on, pulling him tightly to her. "I missed you," she whimpers softly against his hot skin. It's a hard thing to admit – how much it's hurt, how much of her life for the last several months has been about trying not to miss him.

In response he wraps both arms around her, pulling her away from the refrigerator as he does. His voice is ragged as he whispers, "I missed _you_."

They stand like that for a long moment, just holding on, until he pulls away enough to take her face in his palms. He kisses her then, tender and greedy, drinking her in as though she's his strength.

And as he pulls her back in the direction of his bed and tugs her down on top of him until she's sprawled across his body, as he removes the rest of their clothing and pulls her against his bare skin, she's struck by the realization that no one has ever needed her like this. That even when Christopher told her he'd been waiting twenty years for her, she'd never felt so wholly wanted as she does in the arms of this man.

And she's never needed anything the way that she needs to feel his hands, his lips, his tongue tracing paths over her body. She's never needed anything the way that she needs to hear his moans when she uses her hands, her mouth, her tongue in all of the ways he wants her to.

As long as it's been since they've been together, it should surprise her how well they still know one another, at how easily they can still read each other's signals. And as she hears his groans grow more desperate and her own whimpers more frantic, she opens herself to him, crying softly, "Please, Luke, please." They've said so little to each other in their lovemaking, no words, no endearments, that out loud the plea feels that much needier.

He enters her and she matches her movements to his, pushing them both toward ecstasy in that practiced way they have, as if it hasn't been almost a year since they've made love. She reaches for him, letting him pin her under the weight of his arms, holding his hands tightly as he locks his eyes on her.

The look in his eyes is so intense she almost has to look away, but she forces herself to drink in the love in his expression, holds his gaze until her orgasm forces her eyes closed and she breaks apart beneath him. She's barely recovered herself when he collapses on top of her, burying his face in her neck and saying her name softly over and over.

She wraps her legs and arms around him, savoring his weight against her, the solid realness of him pressing her down into the mattress. Eventually though, he rolls to the side, pulling her against his chest. It's then that it all comes back to her again, that awful moment on her porch, the hurt in his voice as he remembered her betrayal, and she begins to dread the moment he wakes up and realizes what they've done. The moment he begins to hate himself for letting her sneak her way back into his life.

So she sinks further into his embrace, taking as much of the moment before it ends. And she falls in love with him all over again, blinking back tears at the hopelessness of it all.

_To be continued_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Insert clever way of saying 'they're not mine' here.

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all of the wonderful feedback about this story. I'm sorry to have drawn it out so long, but thank you for being patient and I hope you enjoy this final chapter. I also want to thank **Once Upon A Whim** for a challenging (in a good way) prompt, which is included at the end. And of course, I can't forget the amazing betas: **CineFille**, **iheartbridges**, and **Lula Bo**.

* * *

He can feel her heartbeat start to slow and hear her breathing even out as he pulls her back against his chest.

It all seems so much simpler when she's lying here in his arms, with her warm soft skin pressed against his, her silky hair brushing his cheek, and her pretty, pretty smell enveloping him.

He knows things with a renewed certainty: he loves her, he wants her back, and he doesn't ever want to lose her again. There it is – the bare-bones truth – without any messy details to muck it up.

This isn't where he expected to be tonight. Not with her next to him in his bed. Not with this level of conviction in his heart. He'd thought they would talk, maybe figure out where to go from here. But when she was here and they were talking, eating, when it was obvious to him that she was putting off the harder topics, he went ahead and let her because it felt comfortable and right and _them_, and he'd been so worried that they'd never be able to find that again, that he'd ruined it during his moment of utter stupidity the other night.

It had been casual and fun and most of all _friendly_, and not in the superficial polite meaning of the word, but with all the warmth and understanding imbued in the word 'friendship.' And he'd let the comfort of it all take the agenda off the table for a bit.

That might have been it, he thinks. They might have just put it off, had another dinner, talked another time, if it hadn't been for that heart-stopping moment when she'd been caught off guard and let him see her desire in all of its buck-naked glory. And he hadn't been quick enough to stop her from seeing his.

He wonders if he should regret it, even as he knows that he doesn't. As close as they've become, as much as they've depended on one another, it's been a very long time since they've been as honest with each other as they were while making love tonight.

She shifts a little, snuggling closer to him and he tightens his arm protectively around her, as he whispers close to her ear, "That was…" He pauses, trying to choose the best superlative. Amazing, maybe? Or incredible?

Before he can finish, though, she's gone tense in his arms, her back rigid, no longer fluid against his chest. "No, please," she pleads softly. "Don't say anything. Please don't."

Her words are desperate, scared and he's so taken aback that all he can say is, "What? Why?"

"We were supposed to talk," she says, her breath hitching between words. "To figure things out. We weren't supposed to do this, and if you're going to say it was a mistake, can you just wait? Please? Just wait a few more minutes?"

"Lorelai," he breathes, smoothing his hand down her arm and pressing kisses to her temple. "I don't…I don't think it was a mistake."

"How can you not?" she asks, her voice raspy. "The other night you said you can't. I should…I should have respected that."

Propping his head up on his hand, he lets out a sigh before pulling her over on her back and resting his hand against her cheek so that he can look her in the eye. "I was an idiot the other night. I'd be even more of an idiot if I let you go now."

She watches him for a moment, her expression conflicted, fearful. Then she shakes her head slowly back and forth, knocking his hand out of the way. "You can't mean that. You can't really want…"

He stares back at her in disbelief. "How can you think that? After we talked…" He can hear his voice soften, becoming more strained. "After tonight?"

She opens her mouth as if to speak, but then squeezes her eyes closed and shakes her head again.

"What are you afraid of?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"You're going to change your mind." She says this with such certainty – there's no hypothetical in her voice.

"I'm not-" he protests, but he's cut off by her hand over his mouth.

"No, don't say it."

He grasps her hand, curling his fingers around hers and looks at her, incredulous. "What?"

"Just, don't make promises," she says, pleading. "We made all sorts of promises and we broke them. I don't trust promises right now."

He brushes the back of his fingers across her forehead and down to her cheek, curling a few strands of hair around her ear. He almost asks her if she trusts _him_, but he's afraid of her answer, not sure if it would be worse if she said 'no' and meant it, or if she said 'yes' in order to keep from hurting him. So instead of asking, he makes an admission of his own. "I'm scared too, you know," he says, his eyes focused on a spot just past her ear, where his fingers are twisting around a lock of her hair.

"Of what?" he hears her ask. When he doesn't answer right away, she presses two fingers against his jaw and brings his eyes to hers, flattening her palm on his cheek. Her eyes are wide, questioning as she looks back at him.

He flicks his eyes away, glancing at her lips, her chin, and her shoulders before sighing and meeting her gaze again. "I don't know if I can be enough for you." He pauses for a long moment. "If you can trust me."

"Luke," she says, her voice insistent, "you've never not been-"

He shushes her as he covers her mouth with his hand. "Remember? You said no promises." He smiles, trying to lighten the mood, but he's only able to coax an uncertain half-smile from her, and he's suddenly at a loss about what to say next.

The moment lengthens, and the silence, once gentle, grows heavy. He sees her bite her lip nervously and her eyes skitter back and forth. She starts to sit up, saying, "I should…" as she points toward her scattered clothes.

He shakes his head. "Don't go."

She lets out a long sigh, her eyes closing as her shoulders fall. "I don't know. This is…I just don't know…" Her voice trails off helplessly.

He wants to reassure her, to tell her what he saw in his heart when he wrapped her in his arms earlier. To tell her that he wants to find what they've lost. But she doesn't want words. She doesn't want promises.

"I don't have all the answers either, but here's what I do know," he says softly, running his fingers up and down her arm. "I want to wake up next to you tomorrow. I want you to stay with me."

She watches him with uncertain eyes for a moment, her chest rising and falling with her breaths. He resists the urge to pull her into his arms and plead, because he can see how fragile her grasp is on the thread of hope that she's clinging to, and he wants her to decide to hold on tighter. So he waits patiently while she takes everything in: the kitchen, where it all started; the trail of clothing littering the floor; the rumpled bedsheets; and finally, the man lying next to her. She doesn't quite meet his eyes, but he can feel her taking him in, as though to confirm that he's not some kind of mirage.

Finally, she lets out a small huff of air, and asks slowly, "Are you sure?"

He doesn't move except to give her a small nod, and after watching him silently for a long moment she gives him a small smile and a nod before curling herself against his chest and letting him run his fingers up and down her spine. Neither says another word, and though he lies there waiting to hear her breath fall into the predictable rhythm of deep sleep, he can't be sure he's not the one who falls asleep first.

* * *

When he wakes the next morning it's with a disturbing sense of familiarity. Disturbing because he has to go back so far in his mind to find a moment they've had like this, simply waking up together. Disturbing because, as he reminds himself, they're still in a precarious place. They're still not quite prepared to believe each other's words. They still have so much to figure out.

But for now, in the dim, pre-dawn light, he lets himself revel in the fact of her next to him. And when he feels her stir, she's doing the same, stretching, like a contented cat against him. It's not until she turns toward him that it seems to hit her, and a mask of doubt falls over her face.

He responds quickly to reassure her, running his thumb along her jaw and leaning in to press a kiss to her kips. When he pulls back, she gives him a tentative smile then ducks her head shyly. He can see her lower lip between her teeth and after a moment she looks up. "I've got to," she says hesitantly, gesturing with her thumb, "bathroom."

He nods and she starts to slip from under the covers, looking around for the closest piece of clothing to pull on. Just as she turns and sits up, Luke sees a large, angry purple bruise on her right side, just above her hip. Lorelai reaches for a flannel shirt that's hanging on the bedpost, but before she can put it on, he grasps her wrist gently and pulls her back towards him.

"Lorelai, wait."

She glances back at him, confused. "What?"

Sitting up, he tugs her around so that he can see the bruised side more clearly. Reaching out, he traces one finger over the outline of the mark. "Did I do this?"

She twists her head to look and then gives him a wry smile, saying softly, "Well, I guess that's sort of the side effect of the whole 'I've been in a dungeon for 10 years and I've just been let out for my conjugal visit' aspect of the evening."

She's joking and he knows this, but he doesn't smile, instead just smoothing his fingers over the raised welt as gently as possible. "I hurt you. I didn't realize..."

"It's just a flesh wound," she says mockingly, but when he fails to laugh, she sobers. "Okay, I get it. No Monty Python jokes. It's just…" She picks at the edge of the sheet and then looks at him. "It's no big deal. It's just a bruise. And I hurt you too," she says, pressing one finger lightly to his bottom lip, and then running her hand over a few angry scratches that run across his shoulder and down one arm. "I hurt you too."

Luke runs his tongue along his lower lip as he drops his gaze back to her hip. Even though he hears her words, and registers them, he's still stunned by what he's done to her, by the physical evidence of it in front of him. His shoulders rise and fall as he lets out a long sigh. "I'm so sorry," he says softly, his voice breaking a bit, "I didn't realize I could do that to you."

He knows that when he'd started his apology he'd been talking about the night before, but somewhere in the midst of his sentence the larger meaning of his words hits him. That he's no longer talking about the minor injury that's right in front of him, but rather about his part in what went wrong between them. About how much damage he'd done to their relationship by not paying attention to what was happening right in front of him.

It's just that he'd never have dreamed that he had the power to break her, to shred her self-confidence so thoroughly. He's always been attracted to her strength, her independence, and it's always been the thing that has scared him just a little bit. Because of those moments in which he'd watch her, so poised and confident, and think about how she didn't really need him. Not the way he'd needed her.

And, in fact, when she'd walked away into the arms of another man, he'd thought she'd just proved him right, that it showed just how little Luke had meant to her after all. But, he thinks he might finally understand after all. She wasn't with Christopher because she wanted him more than Luke. She was with him because he couldn't hurt her as much as Luke.

He takes one of her hands in both of his, running his thumb and forefingers over each one of her fingers in turn, still never taking his eyes off that spot on her hip. He hears her question him, "Luke?"

Shaking his head a few times, he squeezes her hand gently. "I never would have thought I could hurt you that much."

And that's what it's really all about. She'd given her whole self to him, trusted him in ways that he thinks she'd never even trusted Rory, never even trusted her husband. When they'd first started this relationship, he'd known she'd need his patience; she didn't give her trust immediately or easily. But he'd been surprised by how much she had given him, and that when they broke up (the _first_ time, he cringes) it wasn't because she ran, but because he did. And that when it came time for them to really commit, she's the one who had put herself out there and asked him to marry her so that they could start to build a life together.

In his more bitter moments, when he's come up with reason after reason to hate her, he's asked himself why it was okay for Lorelai to put off setting a wedding date, but when he'd wanted to delay their wedding she hadn't been able to be patient. He's let himself be angry about that even though he knows it's not a completely fair comparison. Lorelai had asked to wait to make decisions until things were right with Rory, but in other ways they'd been moving forward, renovating what would be their house, melding their lives. And all the while she'd been sharing her hurt with him, letting him all the way into her heart.

It's a dangerous thing to do, trusting like that and the thing is, he thinks, if you get that lucky, if you find that person who's willing to bare herself to you like that, you need to recognize the risk she's taking and take at least a little responsibility for protecting her when she is so exposed.

Because when the tables were turned, when his life had been turned upside down, he'd pulled away, kept her away from his daughter, let her think that he didn't care. He'd depended on her love and understanding, had taken it for granted, but hadn't really returned it in kind.

"Luke, don't," he hears her say, and at the insistence in her voice he's finally able to tear his gaze away from her bruised skin. "I hurt you. I…" She's not looking at him. Instead her eyes are focused on a point over his shoulder as her fingers search out the welts on the back of his arm. She pauses, fear in her expression.

"It's okay," he whispers, running his fingers down her spine.

She shakes her head and he can see her blinking back tears. No, Luke. This is…it's important." She takes a deep breath. "I didn't intend to hurt you. I didn't plan it out to get back at you." As she speaks, her words coming out slowly, hesitantly, as though she's building to an admission, her fingers each match up with the individual marks on his arm. But even as she's seeking out these new wounds, he knows that she's talking about the old ones.

"But…but when it was happening, I knew…" Her voice breaks, but she takes in a sharp breath as if steeling herself for what she needs to say. "I knew it would hurt you. I knew…" This time he hears her fighting against actual sobs, trying desperately to regain her composure. "I knew it was the worst thing I could do to you, and I did it anyway."

He can see tears freely flowing down her cheeks and he pulls her toward his chest, but she resists, shaking her head again. "And I know. I know that you can't get over it. That…that you shouldn't be able to."

He can sense how afraid she is of this admission, that after everything they've screamed and hurled at each other, and all the ways they'd given themselves to each other the night before, she still thinks this can be the final straw. All he can do in response is crush her to him so forcefully that she's unable to fight back, unable to move, as he runs his hand up and down her back. "Too late," he says softly.

He hears her let out a shaky breath and feels her weight collapse against him. She breathes deeply as he holds her, finally saying softly, "I wish we could go back."

"So do I," he says, nodding slowly, then giving a long sigh, "but we can't go back." At the words, he can feel her stiffen in his arms, start to pull away, so he whispers, "We can only go forward."

Gradually, he can feel the tension leaving her body, and he can feel faith and hope in the way that her body melts against his, and in the way that her head falls to rest on his shoulder. He pulls back to look at her, and when she meets his eyes he's pleased to see that her smile is freer and happier than he's seen in quite some time.

He smiles back, taking her hand in his and kissing the backs of her fingers where they're wrapped around his thumb. He continues, kissing the base of her palm and then down her wrist. When he hears her contented sigh, he lets his tongue and lips work their way up along her arm as he starts to push her back on the bed.

"Luke," she mumbles.

"Mmmm?" he asks, making his way across her shoulder to the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Luke," she says, a touch more insistently.

He pauses a moment to look at her. "What?"

"That whole getting up to go to the bathroom thing?"

"Yeah?"

"Your kisses," she says, moving to sit up, "as magical as they are, don't have the power to make the bladder less full."

"Ah, bathroom," he says, finally understanding.

She gives him a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Besides," she adds, pointing at his clock, "don't you have to open the diner at six?"

He frowns. "Rather stay here with you."

She flashes him another one of her genuine smiles. "Can't say that I'd argue." She shrugs. "But you can make it up to me when you take me out tonight."

"Oh," he smirks, "I'm taking you out tonight, am I?"

He sees a tentative look flicker over her face so briefly he's almost sure he imagined it, but she says hesitantly, "I hope so."

Giving what he hopes is a reassuring grin, he asks teasingly, "And did you have a particular place in mind?"

She grins back. "I figured I'd leave that to you."

"Ahh. How thoughtful," he says wryly.

She just gives him another smile as she grabs the flannel she'd dropped before and wraps it around her body before heading toward the bathroom. And this time the familiarity of the moment is comforting, like so many mornings they've had before and many more he hopes to have.

_Fin_

**Ficathon request**:

Written for **Once Upon A Whim**

**Three things you'd like to see:**

A full-on, preferably all-night, no-holds-barred, conversation that happens randomly and in which Luke finally 'gets' where he went wrong

The two L's taking it slowly, as in uncomfortable, awkward dating to get back to where they were

Kitchen time (meaning L&L cooking together for some occasion or event, but feel free to put the smut there too...)

**Three things you don't want to see: **

Rory, because she's a sniveling idiot lately

Lorelai getting pregnant

Anyone's wedding


End file.
